However, the gas lamps are lit, and somebody had to light them, which means despite all outward appearances, people still live here.

My eyes scour the sleeping city. In less than twelve hours, an army thousands strong will descend on the place, burning and killing and raiding everything in sight. Even on the wings of my passion and War’s kindness, there’s still this sick underbelly to our relationship.

Egyptian soldiers manifest out of the darkness, just as they did in Port Said. And just like in Port Said, their weapons are drawn. There’s even an archer, leveling his arrow at my chest.

“State your business,” one of them demands.

Briefly, I wonder if every stranger entering town this late at night is welcomed this way. Doesn’t matter.

“War is stationed less than twenty kilometers from your town,” I say. “In a few hours he and his army of five thousand will ride into your city, and they will destroy everything.”

The soldiers don’t lower their weapons.

“How do you know this?” one of them asks.

“I’m his—” Wife. I bite my tongue to keep from voicing that damning title. “I’m one of his soldiers.”

I hear the creak of wood as the archer pulls back on his bow. One slip of his fingers, and I’ll take an arrow to the chest.

“Why should we trust you?” the archer asks.

“You don’t have any reason to,” I admit, “but I’m begging you to take a chance and evacuate what you can of your city.”

My eyes move to said city. If there’s still as many people here as there were before the apocalypse, there’s no way all of them will have time to escape. But some of them will, and that’s all that matters.

“If you don’t want trouble,” one of the soldiers says, “I’d suggest you go back the way you came.”

Why does no one ever believe me?

“Listen,” I say. “The rumors about the east are all true. War has already swept through New Palestine. He will sweep through here too. I’ve seen it happen to several cities. It happened to mine.”

I can’t tell in the darkness, but the men seem skeptical.

“Have any of your messengers disappeared recently without a trace?” I ask, trying not to sound exasperated. “Have your aviaries had trouble delivering messages to certain cities to the east?”

I see two of the men exchange a look.

“How about the sky? Have you noticed it’s been hazy recently? Have you seen some ash floating in the wind?”

Again, the men exchange a look.

“The horseman likes to burn his cities and kill anything that comes close to them. Your missing messengers are dead, and the cities north and east of you have all burned. Port Said is gone. So is Arish and most—if not all—of New Palestine”

The soldiers look at each other, then murmur softly amongst themselves. The archer still has his weapon trained on me, but even he is listening in on the quiet discussion.

Eventually they come to some sort of decision.

“And if we believe you?” one says, albeit begrudgingly. “What then?”

For a moment the words don’t process. I guess I hadn’t expected them to come around. Not when they’d seemed so distrustful.

“There isn’t much time,” I tell the soldiers. “War’s men will be waking in an hour, maybe less, and they will begin to mobilize. If the people here hope to escape, they will need to leave immediately.”

“If you’ve lied to us,” the archer says still holding his bow and arrow loosely, “you’ll pay for it.”

Unfortunately—

“I’m telling the truth.”

Fifteen minutes later I’m galloping down the streets of Mansoura.

“Wake up!” I shout as I go. “You all need to evacuate! War is coming!” I move through the city, shouting various versions of the same thing over and over until my voice grows hoarse.

This was the idea that formed when I sat with Zara and those other women. I might not be able to fight War’s army, but I could still warn the cities the horseman was poised to attack, starting with this one.

Slowly, Mansoura rouses. Lamps are being lit inside homes, and I can see people shuffling about, or peering outside curiously. Eventually, I see families flood into the streets, some with their belongings.

I pause briefly to take it all in.

I managed to warn them. I actually did it.

I touch my bracelet, rubbing my thumb over the Hand of Miriam. A part of me swells with pride. I actually helped these people. They might truly survive War, all because I dared to slip away and alert them to what was coming.

Amongst the chaos I hear the clop of hooves, and a horse and its rider sidle up next to me.

“This was bold of you.”

I jolt at that deep, gravelly voice.

“Bold and reckless.”

My head whips to the side, and there’s War, sitting astride someone else’s horse, staring out at the houses with their fleeing residents. He doesn’t look angry, but the sight of his calm, pitiless face chills me to the bone.

“W-what are you doing here?” I say.

“I spared your friend’s boy in Arish, and I spared the survivors in Port Said, all for your soft heart,” he says conversationally. “I was even willing to find your family for you.”

My hands begin to tremble. I know better than to trust his level voice.

He turns his pitiless gaze on me. “And this is how you repay me?”

Being with War has lulled me into a false sense of reality, one where he treats me with benevolence and overlooks my actions.

The back of my neck pricks. I think I misread him.

I force myself to lift my chin. We’re beyond apologies or explanations. I’m not sorry for what I did, and nothing on this earth will pry that lie from my lips.

He scrutinizes my face. What he sees there causes the corner of his mouth to curve up.

The chill inside me expands, reaching my arms, then my legs.

“I knew you were going to be trouble,” he says. “But now, you must see me for who I really am.”

He raises a hand—

“No.”

God, no. Anything but that.

War ignores me, stretching his arm out, as if to grasp the dark horizon.

All around us, people are moving into the streets. I want to say I don’t see the old and the young and everything in between, but they’re all amongst the heaving mass leaving their houses. Some of them glance our way, but no one seems to have any idea that a demon is among them.

“Please, War,” I beg, reaching for his hand, “You don’t have to sabotage this,” I say.

“I’m not sabotaging anything. You defied my will, and now they will suffer for it.”

“Please,” I say again. A horrified tear slips down my cheek.

I have held this man naked against me. He has saved me from the brink of death and brought out feelings in me no one else has.

He is capable of kindness, of goodness. I’ve seen it more than once.

“Please.” My voice breaks. “This isn’t you.”

Isn’t it though? Isn’t this exactly who and what he is?

War ignores me, and beneath us, the earth begins to shudder. The horse he sits on starts to nervously sidestep.